


Out of a Limb

by Mrs_SimonTam_PHD



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [24]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Amputation, Angst, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Addiction, M/M, Oops, Reid's Dilaudid Addiction, Unsub is a DICK, this is not a nice fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24726745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD/pseuds/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD
Summary: Hotch and Reid have been captured by a cannibalistic unsub. What will happen?
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595023
Comments: 13
Kudos: 51





	Out of a Limb

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for my Bad Things Happen Bingo!
> 
> Square: To Serve Mankind/Cannibalism

They have had their fair share of serial killers who were cannibals. A disturbing number of serial killers were cannibals, just as many (most likely) as necrophiles. Reid was currently figuring out (in his head, he’ll double check his math when he gets to a pen and paper) the numerical differences between serial killers who are necrophiles, those who are cannibals, and those who are both. 

What else was he supposed to do while he and Hotch laid in the dingy room, waiting for the unsub that’s captured them to return? There were no books for him to read, and his boyfriend was asleep. 

“I can hear you thinking,” Hotch said sleepily, his arms tightening around Reid. His southern accent that he’s tried to hide was in full force, thick and rough with sleep. “Sleep, Spencer.” 

“I’m doing math,” Reid protested, smiling as Hotch kissed him. The older man hadn’t shaved in a few days, and the stubble tickled his sensitive skin. 

“Do math later,” Hotch murmured. “Sleep. We both need it. There’ll be plenty of time to do math later.” 

Reid laughed softly and kissed Hotch again, nuzzling into him. “Aren’t you curious as to what the math is?” he asked softly. 

“Only if it concerns the statistical possibility of who is going to lose their limbs to a cannibal first,” Hotch mumbled. 

“Oh, that’s easy, you,” Reid said automatically. “You’ve got more meat on your bones, with your muscles and some fat. All I’m good for is bone soup or a stock.” 

Hotch groaned. “I should know better than to ask,” he said, kissing Reid again. “You need to sleep.” 

“Not sleepy,” Reid mumbled against Hotch’s lips. 

Hotch chuckled, and ruffled Reid’s hair. “I’ve spoiled you, between the sex we have and my reading to you,” he said affectionately. 

Reid smiled. “You have not,” he said warmly. “I’ll sleep. Eventually.” 

“You need to sleep in order to better cope with the mental, physical, and emotional traumas that no doubt await us,” Hotch reasoned. 

“Stop being logical, Aaron,” Reid pouted. 

Hotch laughed roughly and kissed his younger lover and subordinate softly. “Sleep,” he rumbled. “Don’t make me try to recite Shakespeare from memory.” 

Reid chuckled and looked up at Hotch to bat his lashes. “Please?” 

Hotch sighed and hummed softly. “To be, or not to be- that is the question. Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the strings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles…” 

Reid yawned and closed his eyes, smiling to himself. 

They may be the captives of a deranged cannibal/serial killer, but at least he has Hotch still here to recite  _ Hamlet  _ when he can’t stop thinking enough to go to sleep. 

The next day, their captor returned with equipment that neither of them liked the looks of. A gurney, bandages, a manual bone saw, a bucket of ice. 

David Snyder fit the profile of their unsub, and they weren’t a fan of it either. A white male in his mid to late thirties, possibly early forties, who was a loner by choice, not circumstance, who had a decent job as a chef, cared about his appearance, and had a previous criminal charge of desecration of a corpse. 

“You know,” Snyder said as he readied the medical grade soft cuffs that he had, “most cannibals all have that one thing that they believe spoils the taste of human flesh.” 

“Jeffrey Dahmer didn’t like tattoos for that reason,” Reid said. 

“Yeah,” Snyder smiled, “exactly. And while it does alter the flavor, it’s also more easily avoided. He grabbed Hotch and hauled him up onto the gurney. Hotch put up a fight, but between the restraints and Snyder using his fighting against him, he was on the gurney in no time. “You just don’t eat the part with the tattoo. You know what ruins a good cut of meat for me?” 

“Not the fact that you start eating your victims while they’re alive,” Hotch growled as he tried to resist being pinned where Snyder wanted him to very little success. 

“Blood flow is good, it makes for a juicier cut of meat,” Snyder laughed as he managed to get Hotch cuffed in the shape of a cross. “Drugs. Narcotics and anesthetics, especially.” 

“Hence why we couldn’t find any drugs found in any of the victims’ systems. It’s more about the taste than the sadism,” Reid surmised. 

“More or less,” Snyder shrugged. “I like seeing them in pain, but it’s more mental than physical. The no drugs is primarily for the taste. If I find out that there’s drugs in my meat, my donor is often put on hold for a while.” He looked Reid over. “You’re going to make some great stock,” he said. “Might be able to get some meat off of you, but not much. Your boyfriend here, however… definitely some good steaks, and at least one, maybe two, good roasts.” 

Reid growled, but then his eyes honed in on something. Something that he thought he’d never be so happy to see again. 

_ Dilaudid. _

Hotch was giving Snyder the classic Hotchner Glare, even as Snyder prepared the bone saw. Reid had to act, and act  _ now  _ while Snyder was distracted. 

He quickly swiped two vials of Dilaudid and two syringes and stuffed them into his pocket. He then looked at Hotch in time to see Snyder making a line on Hotch’s arm, just above the elbow. And then it hit him. 

_ Snyder was going to cut Hotch’s fucking arm off and fucking  _ eat it. 

Hotch was struggling, and while Snyder’s focus was on his supervisor, Reid knew that he couldn’t try anything  _ too  _ athletic to try to save Hotch’s dominant hand. For one, he didn’t have the strength to do so, not when he proved he can manhandle Hotch. For the other thing, if Reid was thrown, it would break the glass vials of Dilaudid in his pockets, and he did  _ not  _ want or need that. 

So Spencer Reid used his wits, just like he did with Chester Hardwick. 

“Wouldn’t you- wouldn’t you prefer to make that steak with a gravy made from a bone stock?” Reid asked. 

Hotch’s eyes widened, and he shook his head wildly at Reid. 

Snyder chuckled. “That’ll be for when I take one of his thighs,” he said. “Forearm meat isn’t all that tough. The palm will make a nice delicacy. And as for the fingers…” he smacked his lips obscenely, making both agents cringe. “It’s been a while since I’ve had Cheeto fingers.” 

Reid blinked at Snyder. “Cheeto fingers?” he repeated in disbelief at the fuckery he just heard. 

“I take the fingers after I chop them from the palm,” Snyder explained, “and expose the bone where they were chopped off. I then dry them out, then skin the fingers, making sure that I remove the nail. They’re then rolled in an egg wash and Cheeto powder two or three times before I deep fry them. They’re very tasty with ranch.” 

Hotch and Reid weren’t exactly sure what to make of that recipe, and Reid was running out of ways to stall Snyder from removing Hotch’s arm. 

If Hotch’s arm- especially his  _ right  _ arm- was chopped off, there goes his career in the FBI. There goes his life as an agent, his dreams of being director, everything that Hotch has worked for- 

“Spencer.” 

Reid looked over at Hotch, who was smiling softly. “It’s okay,” he said. 

“But the team-” 

“You can always call me to consult, and I’ll have Prentiss be my replacement,” Hotch said softly. “And I’m getting worn out. I’m not getting any younger.” He made a motion with his head for Reid to come over and lay next to him, and Reid did exactly that, curling up on Hotch’s left side and resting his head on his shoulder. He made sure that the secret Dilaudid didn’t make a noise. “Besides, I’ll be home with Jack, and that’ll be good for him.” 

Reid sighed and wrapped his arms around Hotch tightly. 

Hotch kissed his hair and looked up at their unsub. “Can he stay next to me?” he asked softly. “Please?” 

Snyder nodded. “Sure,” he said. He grabbed a paper sheet and draped it over Reid. Reid curled in tighter to Hotch, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Even if Reid didn’t have an eidetic memory, he’s sure that he would never forget the sound of the bone saw whirring to life, of it cutting through Hotch’s skin and bone and sinew; he would never forget the sound of Hotch screaming profanities in pain before going limp in Reid’s arms, passed out in shock. He would never forget the blood spatters hitting the sheet covering him, or the feeling of Hotch feeling… weak. Hotch was never weak. 

As soon as it had started, it stopped. Snyder hummed what sounded like a jazz tune as he cleaned up the blood and applied some basic first aid to the newly amputated limb before he removed the sheet. 

Reid looked down and inevitably saw Hotch’s right forearm laying in the bucket of ice. He had to tamper down a wave of nausea. 

“He’ll come to soon,” Snyder said in what was meant to be a reassuring tone as he undid Hotch’s restraints. “I’ll be in with some food for the two of you in a little bit. Make sure he eats. After that, I’ll give him some antibiotics.” 

Reid nodded, and Snyder left. 

It didn’t take long for Hotch to wake up with a loud groan. Reid gently shushed him with a kiss. 

“Hey,” Hotch whispered. “It’s bad.” It was a statement, not a question.

Reid nodded in confirmation. “I’ll help you, especially through the worst of it.” 

“Two amputees, helping each other. How romantic,” Hotch said wryly. “Except I know you. You have a plan to not be amputated in any way, and you know that I won’t approve of it, but you’ll do it anyways out of sheer stubbornness.” Everything Hotch said was said affectionately, with underlying tones of worry. 

“And I thought that there was a moratorium on profiling each other, especially since the two of us are dating,” Reid pouted. 

Hotch kissed Reid’s nose. “That’s just from me knowing you, baby,” he said. 

Reid pulled out a bottle of Dilaudid out of his pocket, showing it to Hotch wordlessly. 

“Spencer,” Hotch murmured, tenderly, with worry, sadly. 

“Aaron, this is the only way I see us both not leaving here in body bags and with most of our limbs,” Reid said softly. “I am willing to give up three years, seven months, and nine days of sobriety to save us.” 

Hotch studied Reid’s face before nodding. “Can you do me too?” he asked softly. “I’m… I’m in a lot of pain.” 

“Are you sure?” Reid asked. 

“I trust you,” Hotch said. “And it’s for pain. Not for pleasure.” 

Reid nodded slowly, and he pulled out a syringe. He would have to act quick. He expertly withdrew some of the narcotic. “Just don’t let me sink too far,” he whispered. 

Hotch pulled Reid in for a kiss, being mindful of the needle. “I will be your anchor,” he whispered. “Always.” 

Reid gave a tender smile and gently pushed the needle into Hotch’s left arm. He then discarded the needle and withdrew the second one, giving himself a larger dosage. 

As the drug hit his veins and he curled around Hotch, Reid prayed for the first time that he didn’t make a mistake in breaking his sobriety. 

It was for a good reason. Right?

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell
> 
> Twitter: @Alendra_Dragon
> 
> Comments and Kudos are Shiny!!


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